#Lyssa

[sarafangirlart]

Lyssa

So a while back I’ve watched an adaptation of Euripides Heracles on YouTube, I found Lyssa and her interaction with Iris pretty interesting, since their personalities are the exact opposite of what one would expect of the goddess of madness and the goddess of the rainbow. One might expect Iris to be sweet and friendly yet in this play she’s bloodthirsty and cruel, excitedly fulfilling her Queen’s orders like a supervillain’s henchman. One would expect Lyssa to be mad and more than happy to share her madness and suffering with others, yet in the play she’s well spoken, gentle, and seemingly hates her job.

I was partially inspired by that crying girl from CSM for her expression and that bit of dialogue is inspired by a scene from The Amazing Digital Circus.

[recovering-vamp]

[pippytmi]

For the fake dating thing 11 with whomever you want!

“Do you always get into fist fights on first dates, or am I just lucky?”

There is a bruise already forming on Kara’s jaw, and her hand still has a phantom ache that won’t go away. There might be a touch of blood on the lapel of her shirt, too, but she has been unable to confirm without ready access to a mirror. But it’s this—the firm click of silver six-inch heels against pavement announcing Lena’s arrival—that brings Kara an instant sense of uneasiness.

“It’s kind of in the job description,” Kara shrugs off the rhetorical question. “You know, of being a girlfriend.”

Lena Luthor has an uncanny ability to make Kara feel completely, totally inept in any situation just with a quizzical quirk of an eyebrow and a ruby-red lipsticked frown. Not because she deliberately tries to, but because that’s just the Luthor™ way. Every member of that family seems to have mastered the ability to stare hard enough to make anyone squirm. Even though Kara has known Lena since they were kids—even though they know each other better than anyone else in the world—the effect is the same.

“That might be the most idiotic thing you’ve said all night.” Despite her stoic expression, Lena’s voice is surprisingly soft. “You should have walked away.”

“That would have been worse than not punching Mike Matthews, I think,” Kara says. “Really, I’m ninety-five percent sure I’m supposed to defend your honor, or… whatever the saying is.”

And the strangest thing happens; a glimpse of amusement cracks through Lena’s frown, visible in the ever-so-gentle upturn of the corner of her mouth. “Sorry, did I miss the part where we time traveled a hundred years ago?”

“It’s—you know what I mean,” Kara says. “If I was your real girlfriend everyone would expect me to punch guys in the face for you.”

“Or,” Lena counters, “it might be overkill, since everyone knows you are not inherently a violent person.”

Kara sheepishly tugs at her collar, unable to stop herself from flushing when Lena gazes at her so pointedly. “Does it matter if everyone who meets Mike wants to punch him? Because I’m pretty sure he could make a nun violent.”

“Wow,” Lena says. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a mean thing about anyone before this.”

“Yeah, well…” Kara grimaces. “Mike Matthews brings it out of me. Or maybe this stuffy party does.” Her hand unconsciously goes back to her jacket, and she has to shrug it off all at once, suddenly feeling constricted in her suit. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Lena must be far more uncomfortable than Kara is, with those high heels and the skintight dress and the overall burden of familial expectations hanging on her shoulders, but she masks it remarkably well. “Practice,” she says—sighs. “And whiskey.”

“Gross,” Kara says, unconsciously crinkling her nose as she works at undoing her tie next. “I’m more of a Capri Sun girl myself.”

A short, stunned laugh emerges before Lena can likely quell it. “Right, how could I forget,” she says, and tilts her head in that curious way she does whenever she has a question she isn’t sure how to ask. But it must pass, because her actual question comes out in the form of: “Is there a reason you’re stripping in full view of the paparazzi?” 

“Fan service?” It’s a weak joke, but it makes Lena roll her eyes in that mock-exasperated way that Kara knows would be a laugh out of anyone else. “I just need to cool off, maybe. Then I promise, I’ll be your doting girlfriend for all the cameras again.” She allows a beat before she adds, perhaps unnecessarily, “Without any violence.”

“Yes, I think my mother would very much prefer that.”

Kara laughs, remembering the horrified look on Lillian Luthor’s face with—admittedly—a bit of glee. “Yeah,” she says, “I’m sure she’s thrilled with how tonight is going.”

“Well, she does think it’s all part of a rebellious phase,” Lena muses. “She’s convinced I’m doing this just to spite her.”

Kara has felt the brunt of Lillian’s disapproval back since she first befriended Lena when they were kids, back when they were auditioning for the same movie. Honestly, there is no telling why Lillian has always disliked Kara. Maybe it was because she wasn’t a nepotism baby like all the rest of crowd, or maybe it was because Kara would sneak Lena out of the giant Luthor mansion to go to the movies, or maybe it was because when they were teenagers Kara had wrecked the Porsche (on a dare)...but that disdain has been steadfast ever since they were young, and it’s never once wavered. Everyone knows it. Lena knows it.

Which is why Kara is unable to keep the confusion out of her voice when she says, “Uh. Aren’t you?”

“Aren’t I…what?” Lena repeats, lost.

“Pretending to date me to spite her?” Kara prompts. “You know. Since she hates me?”

Lena’s brow furrows ever-so-slightly. “I didn’t mean dating you,” she says. “I mean dating in general. She thinks it’s a distraction.” She absentmindedly picks at one of the sequins on her dress, a nervous tic that she has never been able to shake. “God, it’s getting cold out here.”

The temperature is just right for Kara, but Lena has always run cold; Kara’s poked fun at her for it once or twice (or for their entire childhood, but who’s keeping track). An unbidden smile, fonder than it has any right to be, inevitably forms. “Well sit down, so you can leech some of my body heat. Besides, you make me tired just looking at you in those heels.”

“Then I’ll be colder,” Lena objects, eyeing the stone of the fountain edge that Kara is currently sitting on. “No way.”

“You’re the most high maintenance fake girlfriend ever,” Kara feigns annoyance. “Here, then. Sit on my lap. And you can put my jacket over your legs.”

It’s hard to exactly tell with the dim lighting of the streetlights, but Lena—blushes? Maybe? And immediately shakes her head. “I’m too heavy.”

“No such thing,” Kara retorts. “I’ll keep stripping if you don’t sit down, Lena. Then your mother will really have a reason to hate me.”

“You are trying to create scandal everywhere you can tonight, aren’t you?” Lena says, but doesn’t move, only crosses her arms and gives Kara an exasperated look. “It would be a hell of a front page.”

“Wow, Lena, if you wanted me naked all you had to do was ask,” Kara says, undoing the first two buttons of her shirt while Lena continues to glare. Then, for fun, she continues up until she hits the top of her bra and Lena’s jaw fully drops in alarm.

“Oh my God, Kara, stop!”

But the ruse works, because as Lena moves forward as if she’s about to button Kara’s shirt back up (or just push her into the fountain), Kara is able to wrap an arm around Lena’s waist and tug her down. Lena yelps in surprise, arms coming up to squeeze around Kara’s neck, and Kara has to hide a grin into the curls that hit her full force in the face.

“Geez, Lena, you’re like an ice cube. Don’t you own a sweater?”

“You asshole,” Lena says, but there is no bite in her voice, only annoyed defeat. “If I get glitter all over you, I’m not going to apologize.”

“I’ll let it slide, this once.” Kara doesn’t mention that there’s nothing in the world that she wouldn’t let Lena get away with. That’s the inevitable truth of being in love with this girl pretty much her whole life—Kara caves first, and she always has. Whether it was what flavor of Gatorade to get from the vending machine, or whether it was who got to sit down in the only remaining chair for a last minute casting call, or whether it was to tag along to Lena’s prom date so the boy wouldn’t try to kiss her, Kara always let Lena call the shots.

Lena exhales; Kara feels the warmth of Lena’s breath against her temple, feels the steady weight of Lena’s body as she shifts on Kara’s lap, feels the rough pattern of Lena’s dress sequins against her fingertips. “You know you’re my best friend, right?” Lena says suddenly.

Those words always make Kara’s heart skip a beat, like they’re right back to being fifteen and nervously holding each other’s sweaty hands while poring over crumpled scripts. “I’d better be,” Kara quips, if only to keep her sappiness at bay, “or I’m returning the BFF necklaces I brought as our first-anniversary gift.”

“I’m serious,” Lena huffs, and her grip around Kara’s neck tightens just a hair. “Will you let me be serious?”

“Okay, okay. One hundred percent seriousness from here on out, I promise.”

For a moment, the only sound is that of cars passing, of the trickle from the water fountain, of the faint music coming from the party. And when Lena speaks at last, it’s quiet. “I know my mom’s not the…easiest person,” she says. “And if pretending to be my girlfriend is going to make you uncomfortable because you have to deal with her, you don’t have to do it.”

“I’ve been dealing with your mother forever, Lena,” Kara says lightly. “She hasn’t been able to scare me off yet, for as much as she’s tried.”

Lena scoffs, but her hand is unmistakably tender as she fiddles with Kara’s shirt collar. “What happened to being serious?”

“I am serious! Do you or do you not remember that time we went to the water park? I swear she cut a hole in my water tube slide. And let’s not even bring up the whole prom incident, because I swear my hip has never been the same since falling out of your window.”

“She didn’t even know that was you.” Lena laughs, and it’s still somewhat hesitant, but just affectionate enough to reflect her feelings about that memory. “That feels like a lifetime ago.”

Kara inhales, shakily, both the sweet scent of Lena’s perfume and some much-needed air. “In a good way or a bad way?”

Lena presses her forehead into Kara’s jaw, her skin still cold enough that it makes Kara sympathetically squeeze her tighter. “Can you just promise to tell me if you don’t feel comfortable?” she asks, and ignores Kara’s question entirely. “Either with my mother, or…just the pretending part with me.”

“I feel plenty comfortable,” Kara tries, but Lena just reiterates,

“Promise me, Kara. I don't want to lose you.”

Something about the urgency in Lena's tone shifts the mood entirely; Kara swallows tightly and nods obligingly. “Okay. I promise. But you have to tell me, too, if anything becomes…I don't know, too much.”

“Fine,” Lena agrees readily.

“No, wait, but listen,” Kara presses. “Being friends is one thing, but dating is another, and—even if it's fake, we're going to have to do couple things. And I don't want it to ruin our friendship.”

“I also don't want to ruin our friendship,” Lena says. “Which is why I brought it up first.”

“Good. Okay. I just wanted to be sure.” Kara awkwardly shifts, all too aware that this might not be the ideal time and place for this conversation. Much less when Lena's still in her lap, clinging to Kara as if afraid to let go. “So on a scale of one to ten, how badly have I messed up the friendship by fighting Mike?”

Lema hums, considering. “That depends on what he said about me.”

“Um, nothing nice,” Kara says haltingly. “I'd rather not repeat it.”

“Then I'll let it slide…this once.” Lena's hands find their way up to Kara's face, fingertips gentle against the bruise on her jaw. “But you are still an idiot.” She thumbs warmly against the apple of Kara's cheek and gazes at Kara from underneath thick mascaraed eyelashes, then whispers, “And you're my favorite.”

“Your favorite idiot?”

“My favorite person.” Suddenly they're seventeen again, and Kara is sitting on Lena's bedroom floor still tugging at her tux because it itches. Suddenly they're seventeen again, and Lena is biting her lip and unable to catch Kara’s eye. Suddenly they’re seventeen again, and Lena is whispering I wanted you to make sure he didn’t kiss me because I want you to be my first kiss.

Kara blinks, mouth opening and closing for a pause, before she has to fall back on a safe feeling—fall right back to humor, so Lena does not comment on the way Kara’s body automatically tenses. “Aw, Lena,” she manages, “that sounded a lot like you like me.”

“I’m just a good actress,” Lena says mock-haughtily, but her eyes are searching as they lock onto Kara’s, expression softening the way no one else ever really sees. To the world she’s always been some cold, aloof superstar, but to Kara she will always be the best friend who wanted her first kiss to be with the person she trusted most in the world.

“Well for the record,” Kara swallows thickly, “you’re my favorite, too.”

There is a split second—a charged, electric second—where Kara swears Lena is going to kiss her. Her eyes are hooded like they’re about to close, and her face sways closer, her hand still resting on Kara’s bruised jaw. But then she sighs, and Kara can feel the distance before she sees it.

“We should go back inside,” Lena says, abruptly stumbling off of Kara's lap. “Sooner or later we'll have to do damage control.”

It takes a beat for Kara to catch up. “Right,” she says, hastening to button up her shirt and follow. “It wouldn't be a Luthor party without damage control.”

“It's the first time you're the cause, though,” Lena throws over her shoulder. “And don't forget your tie!”

“Got it,” Kara calls, undoing her tie entirely and tossing it into the bushes. “Hey, wait up! Come back and hold my hand.”

That makes Lena freeze in place. “What?”

“For—you know, the cameras,” Kara says, shrugging her suit jacket back on. “So we can show a united front.”

Lena gives her an inscrutable look. “You say the weirdest things sometimes,” she says, but she allows Kara to catch up and intertwine their hands together without further complaint. 

“How else is everyone supposed to know you're not mad at me?” Kara reminds her. “Or that I'm the best girlfriend you've ever had?”

“I doubt they're going to make that assumption based on hand holding.” But as they climb up the steps to rejoin the gala, the low, golden light illuminates that dimpled smile of Lena's that makes Kara breathless. “What makes you think you're the best, anyway?”

“Just a guess,” Kara says, squeezing Lena's hand as they reach the entrance. “Am I?”

“Let's see if you end tonight without any more fights first,” Lena quips, and while her voice is teasing, her smile grows exponentially tender. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Kara echoes quietly, and allows Lena to lead her right through those double doors knowing that she would follow Lena anywhere.

[allmythologies]

greek mythology: lyssa

lyssa was the goddess or personified spirit of mad rage, fury, crazed frenzy and, in animals, rabies.

[lyssatbqh]

Untold amounts of dyke sweat has been put into this shirt. Now I've finally contributed to it

[naynkitten]

Lyssa is something to study at

[sleeplessdreamer14]

back at it again with the mermay art, this time featuring @fiendishfan’s Ilyssabeth (trans-universal cousin) and @sailingthespiral’s Eugene (adoptive brother)

[tiabwwtws-art]

Lunar chilling

[i-mybrunettelady]

my future will listen to me

Summary: Alysannyra meets her patron goddess, Lyssa, at long last. Content warnings: None Spoilers: HoT & LWS3 Note: My piece for the @gw2-zine! Go check out the world of my lovely collaborators, and go follow the zine blog! Happy zine release day!

I 

Everyone’s dressed the same, in the same white robe. It’s designed so that it’ll never be worn outside of the ceremony and outside of this one moment in a child’s life, which makes the fine silver embroidery on it that much more meaningful. Alysannyra cannot fathom how it was made - they’d just taken her measurements one day and three weeks later, this gown appeared on their door. She doesn’t even try. Instead, she wears it with as much pride as she can, not knowing where her blessings lie yet. She wears her hair down like everyone else and she tries to not hate how it blends her in with a whole generation of eight-year olds in the watchful eyes of the high society of Divinity’s Reach. 

There are two children before her. She can feel the stares of the proud parents in the shadows of the grand church. She can’t turn, not now, because the question she needs to answer can’t be found in their expectant and somber silence. Murals cast a green light on the pale hair of a boy next to her, but he doesn’t seem unsure. Nervous, maybe, but not unsure. 

Anyone would be nervous in the presence of gods. Their statues cast large shadows in their absence. And the children are to kneel before the one whose gifts they have and go into their church’s fold. It’s no small task, but if Alysannyra knows anything, it’s that she can’t cower under the burden of it. So she stands with her back straight, in a white robe that tickles her ankles from the early morning breeze, and she doesn’t turn to her family. 

Instead, she looks between Lyssa and Balthazar, trying to chase where the feeling in her heart is leading her. So far, the pull’s stronger with Lyssa, but Nyra doesn’t have magic. She isn’t worried. She’s only eight; nobody has magic yet. But some have a better idea of what it might be than others. A child walks over to kneel before Melandru. A priest accepts the handle they’d been carrying and places it by Her feet. Green magic swirls around them and it’s done. 

A clicking sound of hundreds of little heels echoes against the stone floor as they all make one step forward. 

A choice has to be made, and soon. Alysannyra carries her head high, taller than most other kids already, and stares at Lyssa’s graceful form in the center of the Six. Pinks and purples of the vitrage behind her twin forms cast an inviting light that seems to twist and bend in strange shapes, as if to spite the harmony that doesn’t seem perturbed by them. Balthazar’s helmet feels comfortable; Alysannyra, too, will one day wear a helmet, as a member of the Seraph. Its weight feels irrelevant, necessary, part of the regalia as much as the white robe is. She can almost feel the pressure of the hot metal in her bare hands and she feels the war call to her. 

The blonde-haired boy steps forward and steadily walks towards Grenth. He offers the candle, if a little clumsily, and kneels as an unsettling magic twirls around him. Alysannyra watches when his eyes widen just slightly, feeling the magic on his skin, and that is done, too. He is now a member of the Church of Grenth, potential necromancer in the making. He moves away with that knowledge, and now it’s Alysannyra’s turn. 

She doesn’t move quite yet. The limited time she had to choose wasn’t enough, but she can’t ruin this. Her family’s reputation, at least for a season, is at stake, and that little feeling in her chest that burns every time someone calls her Lady Ainsaph, too. She takes a deep breath, looks once more, stares into the eyes of the statues, and turns right. She is a daughter of Ascalon, a daughter of war, and Balthazar would be fitting. 

She lifts one foot off the ground when something in her gut screams no. She holds her head high as she suddenly turns left and walks down to where Lyssa is, candle in hand. Clamor of the people is silenced by the determined clicking of her heels, but she feels at peace. 

Come, daughter, the statue seems to say. Part of her knows this will make people talk, but in a strange way, she looks forward to it. She looks forward to the chaos a slight movement of feet will cause, and lifts her head even higher. 

And when she finally kneels and feels the magic seep into her skin, Alysannyra knows she’s made the right choice. Let them talk, let them gawk. 

At least she’s not just a simple Lady Ainsaph anymore, even if the rebellion is as small as this. 

II

Lyssa’s Reliquary is a fucking maze. Shelves of stone that house both man and monster shaped horrors would be enough to disorient most people, and such feeling is only made worse by the little portals that pop up like zits in the most random fucking places. Nyra hates them the most, even though she’s trying to stay level headed in the face of illusions that remind her of all the bad things she’s done and all the blood on her hands. 

But portals don’t disorient her. The chaos of the reliquary only bothered her for mere seconds before she found the rhythm in this place and she’s been riding it ever since. Renira tries to keep up, visibly struggling. Nyra traverses the sacred space like she was born to do it, and maybe she was. Maybe at birth, Lyssa watched from wherever She is now and pointed Her clawed hand (because in Nyra’s mind, Lyssa’s hands have always been clawed) in her direction so she could pass through Her reliquary once she grew up. 

It’s a comforting thought, in a way. It’s the only comfort she has when she slices through a tortured, gruesome vision of Apatia, dead by Nyra’s own hand. It’s the sole thing keeping her sane when she falls through yet another portal to escape the grasp of an illusory Mordrem Trahearne. 

“Where to now? How do we get down?” Renira shouts, wiping sweat off her brow. She swallows when she looks down at the ground below, but it’s the only sign of distress she offers. Nyra’s getting just slightly better at reading her. Or maybe she just lets Nyra see. Her eyes, golden like a cat’s in the stifling, dark chaos around them, don’t betray anything but a grim determination. 

“I think I know the way down,” Nyra says. “It won’t end with us falling to our deaths, hopefully. I’m getting quite a feel for this place.” 

“Of course you are,” Renira replies. “You’re about as chaotic as this reliquary is.” She gives a small smile. “It suits you, after all.” 

“Ever the charmer, Sulver,” Nyra shakes her head. In another life, they might have developed a romance following their brief hookup in Ebonhawke years ago, and the thought of exploring this place with a lover sounds romantic until she remembers she killed her actual lover in Maguuma. Now, it's a flaring ache that makes her look away in shame. 

“You’re alright, Nyra,” Renira says, strangely gentle. She places a gloved hand on Nyra’s shoulder and though she can’t feel the comfort, she feels undeserving of such sentiment. She’s never really emoted well, but she supposes a lifetime of spying on people makes it easy to identify emotions, regardless of expression or lack thereof. 

Nyra shakes her hand off. “Let’s go,” she says. Renira simply nods. 

But before they can make a single step, a big voice booms in the wind. “That is, in fact, the correct way, Alysannyra Ainsaf! It’s taken you a lot less time than I’d anticipated, too.” 

Nyra’s heart sinks to her feet. She doesn’t need to see to know who it is - the goddess Herself, as much in the flesh as they come these days, and She sounds more than a little smug about it all. 

It takes her a moment to find her voice. “Hail, Lyssa,” she says loudly. A part of her hates how uncertain she sounds, but to make up for it, she turns to the direction of Lyssa's voice. She can’t see Her, of course; mortals can’t see gods. Nyra remembers the story of Malchor. She likes her ability to see, thank you very much. She remembers how anguished his ghost was, howling Dwayna’s name like an injured beast.

And maybe she’s like that, too, alive yet forced to walk with guilt and grief eating away at her spirit and her bones. Because she tried to jump into the sea below not that long ago. In Lyssa’s temple, her mind cruelly supplies and Nyra shivers beneath her armor.  

Can she even bear to look Lyssa in the eye now? 

“Formal,” Lyssa says. “There is no need, daughter. I think you’re right at home. Would you be so formal with your parents?” 

Nyra sits down. Renira watches, unsure of what to do, and she signals her to do the same. “If I’m at home, goddess,” Nyra says, “then I’m sure you won’t mind if I bring a guest?” 

“Your mesmer friend? She can stay. Her magic is in my domain, though her blessings are, funnily enough, not. What is your name, mesmer?” 

“Renira, goddess,” she says cautiously. 

“Illusory,” Lyssa replies. “Just like it should be.” 

Renira stiffens and digs her nails in her gloves, but her face remains calm. “Yes, goddess.” 

Nyra wants to ask what that is all about, but knows she needs to tread cautiously, too. Her head’s too exhausted and heavy for two mind games at once. Besides, she needs Renira as an ally here and she’s not stupid enough to risk it by asking questions like this. 

“Lyssa, I have a question,” Nyra says. She swears she can see the wind around them move to face her and tilt a little to the side in curiosity. “You invited me here in a dream. You spoke to me when you sensed that we were backed into a corner in our search, so it stands to reason that you know what we’re after. If I may, what information do you have on Balthazar’s whereabouts?” 

Lyssa’s laughter echoes like a thousand drums, and Nyra digs her clawed gauntlets into her thighs to not cover her ears. She can feel Renira looking at her, maybe bewildered, maybe with that ever present calm, but she doesn’t want to turn away now. A part of her knows she should be more humble, now that she has blood on her hands that will never go away as long as she’s alive, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t answer that little voice in her head that slaps the notion away like a gnat. 

“Oh, you’re brave!” Lyssa says as laughter dies on Her windy lips. “Humanity hasn’t produced a person this fearless in a long, long while.” 

“That’s what happens when you have nothing to lose,” Nyra says. Her throat becomes tight and her eyes prickle with tears. “I tried to jump from Your temple not that long ago. I think I’ve earned the right to ask questions directly.” 

“I know you did,” Her voice becomes quieter. Of course She knows. “Your mind is still in chaos. It will be until your death. You placed any peace for yourself at the altar of glory long ago.” The wind blows forward, and a ghostly hand cups Nyra’s cheek. It’s cold and unsettling and it makes her skin crawl. She breathes out and closes her eyes tightly. Her heart feels like it wants to beat out of her chest. “Was it worth it?” 

Nyra’s quiet for a while. Tears slide down her skin, burning, yet the ghostly fingers wipe them away. She feels the heaviness of her armor, the tickling of her hair that was once a flag behind her and that now barely reaches her shoulders. Her shoulder aches from the fighting, her heart aches from the evil she’s done, all in the name of her own glory and this fucking world that she’s judged to be worthy of Trahearne’s life. She feels claws softly digging into the sweaty skin of her cheek, as sharp as the ones on her hands. 

Nyra tears light with them and makes it her own. If Lyssa draws blood, that too would belong to Nyra. 

Nyra opens her eyes. “Yes.” 

Lyssa runs a hand through her hair. “I’d hunt you down if you answered any differently,” She simply says. “I sent you that dream because I knew you would be able to stand up to Balthazar. You, daughter, and nobody else. You will either kill him or die trying.” She then lets go and Nyra catches her breath fully again, like a pressure has been lifted.

“I only need to track him down, then,” Nyra says, with a renewed fire in her chest. “So, tell me what you know, goddess.” 

III

She does find Balthazar in the end. These days, the memory of him doesn’t burn so painfully as it did at first. The scars he left on her arms and her legs and on the skin of her stomach and lower back remain hidden under clothes, but Nyra knows they’re there. 

She’s used to them, somehow. They’re her shrine to her heresy, after all. In her home chapel, his place is empty because she carries the reminder of him on her skin. And if she, in her grief-induced craze, had her way, she’d bring down every single statue of him in Tyria by hand. 

Let her be the only shrine he’ll ever have left, on a wartorn path to erase everything else. Sometimes, she remembers Lyssa asking her if it’s worth it. If she thought she knew pain then, when she stood before her goddess, she should’ve considered her answer a little more. 

But Nyra knows pain now. She knows the pain of grief, of loss, of a broken faith, and her answer remains the same. Gods have left Tyria, but this answer is the closest thing she has to a divine oath. 

It’s always worth it.

[tumbling-through-deepspace]

The Hunter, a baby and the unexpected forming of family in unlikely places: Chapter Two

Summary:

Hunter Lyssa Williams finds a baby abandoned outside her apartment complex. The 24-year-old is way over her head and does not know the first thing about looking after a tiny human. However, as the saying goes, 'it takes a village to raise a child' and in her case a group of unlikely men come along for the ride.

Genres: Slice of life, comfort, eventual relationships, eventual romance, enemies to friends, frenemies, fluff...

Word count: 2105 words

Eventual Relationships: Xavier/MC/Rafayel

Zayne/Sylus/Lyssa

Chapter Two: Visitors and Concerns

Zayne did not know what to say as he sat across from Lyssa. The young woman in question was glaring at him while trying not to fall asleep. He could see how tired she was. Her hair was unkept, sticking in all directions, there were stains on her clothes, dark circles under her eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“Doctor Zayne, I know this is not a social call and I have no energy to talk to adults right now. So, can you tell me why you are here?”

“It is very inconsiderate to cut off all communication considering that there are people worried about you.”

“The people that I know who would be most worried were here a week ago. I am not aware that there were others. I’m not a very social person and only those who I allow to get close to me know what I’m like.”

She watched as he slightly tilted him head “That is where you are mistaken. Jasmin and Tara, Doctor Waverly, and your captain they all were worried.”

Lyssa felt a headache develop. She just wanted to sleep and this talk about people that she hardly associates herself with unless it’s work, or the hospital made her skin crawl. She wasn’t exaggerating when she confessed to not being a social person.

“Go away.”

“It is not advisable for you to be isolated especially when you look like you’re about to faint.”

“I’ll manage. Hunter training is more intense than this and I’ve gone days without sleep before.”

“Research would debunk that claim. It is more taxing taking care of a newborn than working any job.”

Lyssa couldn’t help herself, she did hiss at him, annoyed that he was in her home when she just wanted to be left alone. Why did he care? They weren’t friends.

“You’re infuriating. Get out of my nest Zayne. The faster you leave the better; I can return to taking a nap while my daughter is having hers.”

The two looked at each other for a few moments. Zayne was the first to break eye contact and he rose from his seat preparing to head out

“Ms. Williams as a medical professional I strongly advise that you have some support to help with the strain of your duties. You won’t be helping your daughter if you are not 100%. Is the other parent not involved?”

“Non-existent.”

Taking that as the cue to leave, Zayne let himself out quietly closing the door behind him.

Doctor Waverly blinking twice in disbelief “Forgive me but I think I misheard you.”

Zayne let out a sigh “You heard me quite clearly.”

Both doctors sat in silence each lost in their own thoughts. Doctor Waverly was perplexed; in the years that he was Lyssa’s primary care physician, there was nothing within her anatomy that indicated that she could carry children to term; it was a 25% chance.

He remembered how devastated the young woman was when being told this; she had her annual physical examination at that time and wanted to know if she could have children. Now it seems that that 25% came through. However, the question going through his mind is ‘why didn’t she trust him— her doctor—to guide her and offer this medical input?’

Then there was the situation with her Evol that needs to be taken into consideration; Her Evol was a wind manipulation type as the primary strand but there was a second strand present. So far, the Evol type was unknown. The primary Evol tied into her phobia of being touched.

How did that work for her? Letting anyone new to touch her caused Lyssa’s Evol to react erratically. With her having to constantly be holding and tending to a newborn, how was she coping? How was the state of her Evol? The fact that Doctor Zayne witnessed that there was no presence of her Evol or of it acting out when holding the baby, indicated something positive. Sometimes Lyssa baffled him.

Doctor Zayne on the other hand couldn’t get the image of Lyssa out of his head. He had never seen her so vulnerable; even though there were traces of sleepiness and fatigue, she looked so soft and delicate. A complete opposite of her normal stoic expression and guarded body language. It awoke a feeling in his chest and with her holding a baby—his thoughts shifted to a domesticated scene.

Then there was the baby. The situation baffled him a bit. Like, when was she pregnant? How did no one notice? Who was the father of the child? Lyssa said they were non-existent. Zayne had a ton of questions and not enough answers.

From what little he could see of her daughter, the baby has a head of white hair with hints of purple, a lighter shade of her mother’s. The little girl was also small, so she could be a pre-term baby or maybe the child was just naturally small.

He couldn’t understand why he had an urge to return to her side. They both met through Doctor Waverly because Jasmin and Lyssa have similar health issues with their Evols and since he has been handling Jasmin’s case for a few years, had more experience than his colleague who came to him for advice.

Over a few years they would cross paths and even though Lyssa would be polite and engage in small talk, she kept her distance and never pried into his personal life; yes, there were times when she would be exposed to his co-workers’ shenanigans and found out small things about him but he didn’t mind.

It was a relief at his end because he has had many instances throughout his medical career dealing with patients who would flirt, try to dig for information and who crossed boundaries. The encounters would leave him uncomfortable.

There were times—when he allowed his mind to stray—his thoughts would aim towards her. Any new thing he picked up about Lyssa was a result of Jasmin (who can be a chatterbox at times), and it was worse with Tara being present.

He learned that she bakes, and she crochets. That she loves books and has quite a temper, but it comes out in the form of expletive venting or violent silence with a piercing stare (Tara’s exact words on the last part).

Zayne had to stop himself from smiling because he could picture Lyssa doing something like that. Afterall, he has been on the receiving end of a few stares.

The idea of her taking this on alone caused him to frown. What of her work? Captain Jenna said that Lyssa was on a mission around the time he reached out. Clearly the baby couldn’t be the mission she spoke about; no that wasn’t it.

He did reach back out after no one could get on to her, not even the captain. It was then Zayne shared with her that Lyssa missed her appointment and about the fake address. That resulted in her explaining that the address wasn’t exactly fake, it was used as a means of cover. Lyssa’s apartment was a few doors down from the Bakery and if he truly wanted to find her, she would most likely be there. That is how he got the building and her apartment number.

So, he took a gamble, and it paid off because she was there, but would she stay there now that she was found out?

“Alexandra? What are you doing here?”

“Well hello to you too Tweets. Where is my niece?”

Lyssa rolled her eyes “Hello Alexandra. I am fine, thank you for asking.”

The woman laughed “Alright, enough with the sass. Let me in.” She then swept Lyssa into a hug “Missed you Tweets, you need to come visit, it’s not the same without you around.”

Trying not to get misty-eyed, she let Alexandra into the apartment and guided her towards the living room where little Ella was lying in the baby swing.

“Holy shit, it seems Roman’s injection worked. She already has some of your features and hair coloring. Was white her natural hair color when you found her?”

“Roman is a dam scientific genius, I almost didn’t believe it when Dox said they had a way to make sure she was mine. Imagine my surprise when Roman explained they could alter her DNA to match mine, so if anyone did any test it would show she was my daughter. Yeah, white hair and hazel eyes.”

Alexandra sanitized her hands before taking the baby into her arms “Well he only created that serum because of you and Enid.”

“We told him not to, so stubborn that one but I guess in hindsight I’m happy he did. Now, enough about that big marshmallow, what brings you to Linkon? I know the N109 zone can’t be that boring.”

The two women giggled as Ella began babbling and tugged Alexandra’s hair “Aww, we aren’t giving you enough attention chick.”

Lyssa groaned “Please do not start giving her bird nicknames too.”

“I don’t have to have a reason to come and see you Lyssa. If you won’t make the effort, I will. Things aren’t boring per say but I just needed to get out of there for a few days cause of some heat.”

They entered the kitchen with Lyssa bringing out a carrot cake and cutting out two slices “Are you lot causing trouble again?”

“Not us. There is this group of arm dealers that got on the bad side of one of the big ones on top the food chain and the whole N109 zone is tense waiting for shit to hit the fan. Just didn’t want to be around when that happens. Can I crash here?”

Lyssa laughed “That was clearly a reason for coming to see me. You don’t do anything without reason. Sure, you can stay. Any idea who was pissed off?”

“Move to the N109 zone if you want the tea, tweets.”

“Not when I have that little one to look after.”

“Wusspuss.”

“Come on Alexandra… Please. I’ve been cooped up and you always got all the juicy info. Entertain me.”

“No way. I am not giving you any names, not with you still employed with the Hunter’s Association.”

Lyssa grinned slyly “Oh! It’s someone on the association’s radar. Dam, I don’t feel sorry for the folks that pissed of whoever it is.”

Alex raised a brow “Don’t go poking your nose into business that doesn’t concern you tweets, no matter how tempting it may be.”

“I won’t.”

“Give me a vow that you won’t”

Kissing her teeth, Lyssa shook her head “I will do no such thing, not even for you. The last vow I took nearly got me killed. Look, I won’t be doing any snooping; got a baby to take care of and I’m on indefinite leave from the Association, so I’m going to take that time to relax and embrace motherhood.”

Alexandra huffed and grumbled under her breath in another language “Whatever. Let’s go out, show me the neighborhood. I refuse to have you stay indoors when the weather is beautiful, and the chick can take in the wonders of the great outdoors.”

“Have I ever told you I love yah?”

“You don’t say it enough. I deserve it after having to put up with all of you.”

A hooded figure trailed behind the unsuspecting pair, blending seamlessly with the crowd. Both women possessed the same height with almost similar body types. One having sun-kissed skin, waist length chestnut colored hair, grey-blue eyes and a battle scar running along her left cheek. They were tasked with finding out why she vacated from the zone when a missive was sent out that no one was to leave.

The other woman had dark violet eyes, chocolate colored skin, light violet eyes and a beauty mark under her left one. They observed that this one was supporting something in her hands, cocooned in a wrap and it took them only a split second to realize it was a baby.

Well, that was something they never encountered on a mission. Something worth reporting. They continued following the women until they entered an arcade. Only staying a few seconds, the stranger was preparing to turn away when they felt eyes on them. Looking up, he saw the woman with violet eyes staring right at him, a faint purple glow coming off her body.

It should have been near impossible for her to notice them. Not wasting another second, they turned around and vanished from view. It was time to hand in their findings.

[beepadoobop]

reblog this post with a selfie if youre SMELLY

[sarafangirlart]

While I agree that the reason that ppl/media still come back to Hephaestus and Aphrodite as a couple is bc it can be twisted into an incel revenge fantasy I don’t think that’s the entire picture, bc that wouldn’t explain why we get so many sanitized depictions of them bc sure you could argue it’s incels again but with a power fantasy but not all men/writers are incels and a lot of ppl who are into this couple are progressives/ women, plus it wouldn’t explain why some ppl portray them as polyamorous.

I think the main reason is that ppl have this overly sanitized idea of love, so they can’t imagine the goddess of love doing something so… unloving. There is this overly simplistic idea that the gods are 100% representatives of their domains and have no personality outside of that, which just isn’t true and is especially obvious with Lyssa goddess of madness, you’d think she loves causing madness and is mad herself but she isn’t, she is portrayed as well spoken and ashamed of the suffering she causes.

Thats not to mention that modern media always pushes this idea that love conquers all and that it’s a net positive but the ancient Greeks had a more complicated idea about love, they saw it as this scary overpowering thing and the god who was responsible for making ppl fall in love (Eros) is portrayed as a mischievous child who doesn’t care about the harm he causes.

So we get ppl who insist that Aphrodite can’t be a cheater bc she’s actually polyamorous and is with both Ares and Hephaestus, and Hephaestus is acsexual actually which is definitely not ableist and definitely doesn’t infantilize and desexualize disabled ppl at all.

[recovering-vamp]

[thunder-jolt]

Not in the exact style as Hades but the shading would at least help. Anyways, allow me to introduce a minor goddess/primordial deity (minor as in NOT known, not as in her age), Lyssa, the Goddess of Rage, Frenzy, and Rabies in animals.

= = = =

Her lore is quite simple:

She is not known by many and is often considered forgotten by most. However, she is known for inflicting the Minyades with madness as tasked as an agent by Dionysus, and inflicting Herakles with madness as tasked by Hera but was intervened by Athena. Unfortunately, no other gods (other than Dionysus, Hera, and Athena) even know of her existence, though she was infamous for creating the disease of Rabies (aka the Lyssavirus) when the hounds of Achteon tore him apart purely at the presence of Lyssa, or any other creature potentially infected with Rabies.

In Lyssa's defense, she created the disease of Rabies by accident but, in her own words, "It would've been an accident if the other gods didn't task her with inflicting madness upon other people, and animals, too.", which would imply that the disease was intentional, it's how it does to the human body that is unintentional. In her own words about the disease, "It can bring madness, yes, but it does other things, foaming at the mouth? Hydrophobia? Those are purely not of my power or intention. I'm a goddess closely related to the Maniae, not a goddess closely related to the Nosoi."

But enough about lore now, let's get to her personality:

She can easily be ticked off by any loud noises, though mainly with big crowds (and selfish pricks-) for that matter.

Much like a dog, she's both bark and bite. And trust me, you do not want to have her bite. That's what I would consider a death sentence, whether death by rabies or by something else.

Though being the goddess of rage, she gets along rather well with the other gods, such as Aphrodite, Hephaestus, and, the previously mentioned gods that were stated in her lore (Dionysus, especially. Hera, good terms. Athena, minimally mutual). She also gets along well with Zagreus and Melinoë, though I'm not sure how to put it into words.

She's also good with dogs, though most of the time, they end up becoming crazed and might end up tearing another innocent man, so she avoids any duties surrounding dog-sitting, or taking care of dogs, though Cerberus is an exception, as it seems to be immune to Lyssa's madness, still.

Much like the disease of Rabies, Lyssa is also hydrophobic, though not really Hydrophobia as it is Thalassophobia. Purely, Scylla's to blame, though it's debatable whether she is truly the cause or just simply a correlation to Lyssa's fear of the ocean.

She tends to be quite prophetic when it comes to the topic of madness, to which she almost can sense that in a far, far distant future, it's all nothing but bleak madness. (Of which, she's correct, albeit in a different way-)

ANYWAYS! Tell me what you think of her, in the comments or in reblogs! It would be very lovely.

[neverknowsme]

The best scene of “my friend Dahmer”

[lyssatbqh]

^^ transgenders when they dont have time to go home to dress for fetish night so they gotta raid their friends closet